


Laughter in Bludgeoned Silence

by Abhorable



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: "michael myers is a thicc man", Dungeons and Dragons, Moonshine, Other, References to Alcohol, i'm just writing dumb shit don't mind me, poor baby hillbilly, uhhh hi welcome to entity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-08-28 16:02:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16726521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abhorable/pseuds/Abhorable
Summary: DBD oneshots, might continue certain ones if interested.Really felt that my other book was bogging down my other works in the DBD category.I'm removing DBD from the fandom tag on the other one, and posting DBD related stories to both for those still interested in my dumbassery. Hope this clears some stuff up.I write in a style similar to stream of consciousness, but if you happen to request otherwise for a certain pairing(friendship or otherwise) then I'd be more than happy to oblige.





	1. Dice(Ace&Dwight)

Usually, when poking around everyone's belongings, I was a bit more cautious as to not get caught.  
Apparently not today.  
Though nobody else was around camp, whether they be exploring or in a trial, I kept my guard up.

Cash was as meaningless and frivolous as the shoddily crafted luxuries we carried in the Entity's little card deck. Didn't mean I didn't steal it from everyone's pockets, or that I shouldn't. Money is money.  
And hell, if we ever got out of here? I'd be a much richer man.   
Their money seemed to regenerate each time they came back from the dead anyways, so where's the harm in a little pickpocket advent?

Money grubbing as ever, you beautiful bitch, Ace.  
At least some sort of figure head is being upheld here whether or not it's crooked.

While poking around camp, lazily slipping my fingers through everyone's extra clothes we kept around, I was more than certain that I had found something within the pocket of a button-up shirt.  
Something hard.

I reached my hand in, and pulled out a small velvet pouch. I pulled at the drawstrings, peeking inside. A few dice, all right.

I poured the contents into my hand, revealing not only what I was familiar with, but an assortment of many other sided plastic shapes.  
Now I, Ace Visconti, was bamboozled.

Each side was numbered, and it appeared that there were two colored sets.   
One in a strange, chrome metal blue with white lettering, and the other. It was far more intricate. Each shape done out of carved wood, small darkened incisions in the blocks, giving them a distinct rustic look.  
But holy fuck, some of them even went up to the number 20.  
I'd never seen anything like it.

As I stuffed them back into their home, I turned on my heel and up around. Face first into someone else.  
Stranger still, I couldn't escape our "Leader", Dwight, as he stared me down.

His arms folded across his chest, he began to tap his foot up and down like a disturbed mother after their son had been found trying to get the local racoons into a fight, only to end up with a large gash along their arm.  
I'm no kid in a raccoon fight, but he's just as angry.

"Why're you digging through my stuff?" His voice came out high pitched and squeaky, riddled with anger that settled as he got more used to speaking. I had to suppress a small chuckle.

"No harm in it," I shrugged, putting my hands up to some allusion of innocence. 

"You have my dice bag, Ace."

"It's not like another one won't show up in your pocket later."

"Ace." He huffed, annoyed kid, this one.

"Aight fine. Why would a di even need that many sides?" He looked at me like I was the idiot. I really didn't know.

"You need a dee-twenty to roll for initiative in a lot of games, and a lot of R-P-G systems are based off of the dee-twenty."

"The who in the what now?"

"Rpgs."

"You're not helping, Fairfield."

"Like Dungeons and Dragons."

"HA- nerd."

"It's not just for nerds." He yelled back, snatching the bag out of my hand.

"I always knew you were a little more out of the crowd than you let on, Dwight." His cheeks went a little bit red as I said that, though quickly going back.

"Dungeons is fun. I think you'd enjoy it if we got some of the others to play."

"U-huh."

"You'd make a good rogue." My blank face probably coerced him to go on. "Thief, assassin, mercenary, whatever."

"I can just do that in real life."

"But have  _you_ ever stolen the egg of a level twenty frost dragon?"

"No, because I'm not some nerd kid."

"You'll never be too old for d'n'd, Ace. If I get David to play, you have to join us."

"Nerd game for math nerds, not interested."

"What if I get David  _and_ Nea?"

"You? Convince Nea Karlsson to play some dice game? Not a chance."

"If I do, you have to play."

"I'll take your bet, boy. Just don't expect to win." I gave him a pat on the shoulder as I rolled my eyes.


	2. Escapism (Trapper/Meg)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meg is on a steady slope.  
> It's not up.

My last few trials haven't been going too well, and it's starting to show. Especially since I was just sacrificed, even if I was the last one to go.

I trudged back to the campfire, bleeding shoulder and sides beginning to rapidly show muscle repair. I ran right up to the place, arms open in some sort of expectance, as I dropped myself and hung heavy, legs aimlessly dragging me to a log seat.

"You look like hell, Meg," Nea nudged my arm with cold fingers, pulling my gaze from the ground, up to her.

"Thanks Karlsson." I gave a gritty smile.

"'M serious, you're burning yourself out crazy bad." The Swede went on.

"I'll be fine."

"You've been sprinting outside of trials again, haven't you?"

I felt my breath hitch.

"So you have."

"No, what gave you that idea? I've been on long distance."

"You keep coming back sooner and sooner." Her brow furrowed.

Dwight chimed in. "We're-worried about you."

"What do you want me to do? Stop practicing what I need to practice?"

"You're the best runner out of all of us, you can't burn yourself out like this." Nea went on, "You tripped Jake while stumbling out of the way of the Nurse. _The Nurse_. The slowest killer."

"Okay, maybe it's starting to become a problem."

"Just..Take a nap. Something." Dwight mumbled.

"'Will you all get off my back if I do?" I shrugged, raising my eyebrows. 

"Gladly." Giving me a light pat, Nea stood up and stretched, nodding to Dwight. "Trial."

Seeing as I couldn't feel the soul-binding tug of the Entity reaching for me, I decided now was as good a time as any to actually plop down and pass out. Nea and Dwight skittered off into the fog, and I was, for once, left alone. I wasn't about to go back on my word and waste away in conscious self hate, so sleep sounded good.  
I slumped off my dirty log onto the forest floor, closed my eyes, and went where it took me.

 

I'd awoken not much longer when Jake and Quentin returned, the two having a quiet conversation about the importance of digital cameras.  
Laurie was here not a moment later, so sleeping wasn't an option any more.  
Those three were hella close. And whenever they could, they stuck together. Those quiet few.  
I didn't have any issues with it, but sleeping around them wasn't an option.

I rose from my spot, now that I  _was rested_ I could go off and take a walk. Not even a jog, just a walk.

"Hey, I'll be in the fog if anyone needs me." I yelled over, though over their little tech era chat, I doubt any of them heard me as I fumbled off into the woods.

It wasn't completely uncommon to dip into the killer's domains, but when you did, it was relatively understood between most survivors that we didn't stick around long. Especially if more than one was present.  
I felt the muggy air of Autohaven gasoline pierce my nostrils. I continued my walk, it wasn't like I was doing anything morally wrong. I didn't look through all their shit.

Turning the corner on one of the car heaps, I felt my heels dig into the dirt.

Standing against a pillar of tires, sat the uncloaked Wraith. His unblinking eyes focused not on me, though. The Hillbilly stood against a tree where his weapons remained propped up.  
They were enveloped in some sort of conversation I couldn't hear, and I wasn't noticed yet.  
I took this as an invitation. To leave.

Meandering back to the fog, I expected to head to the warmth of the Campfire.  
I was incorrect.

 

The distinct night air of MacMillan estate was stark against the green fog I'd emerged from.   
I was by that two-floored house. Boxes littered the yards. Strange, random bricked walls.  
I'd be one hundred percent fucked if I got trapped here.

I didn't have time to think, I was going to be focused solely on watching the ground for any sort of glinting metal. I heard Claudette barely escaped this place alive the last time she went out herb searching. And, shockingly enough, I'd never been here alone. It was always in a trial, or  _with_ Claudette.

My eyes were trained to the ground, so when I began to get a little bit more gutsy and walk out into the grass, I was focused.  
Too focused to feel the warm breathing against my hair, apparently.

I, Megan S. Thomas, have  _walked_ face first into the chest of The Trapper. Easily one of the most terrifying killers.

I gave a meek yelp and tripped backwards, falling flat on my ass. He didn't really approach me, so at least I had that going for me.

I could feel my heart at the edge of my throat, demanding me to stop being such a pussy and actually let me get up and away from what gripped at only primal fear, to let me leave.  
His mask was that of white, metal shards sticking from what could only be presumed to be a jaw in some resemblance to teeth. Several metal hooks jutted from his shoulder, implying things that even as a group, survivors couldn't piece together reasonably.

"Runner," He chuckled, voice gravely and I could even see his lips move as he spoke. "What are you doing?"

Remaining silence wasn't too much of an option, unless I presumably wanted my entrails flung into a beartrap.

"Nuh-thing." I stuttered out.

"You're looking for something." He took a step towards me and he kneeled down, so I scooted back, still to terrified to get my stupid bearings.

"Traps."

"Why-" He paused, actually putting his right hand to his face. So he was unarmed. Yea, sure, that helps. "Why would I set up traps where I'm constantly walking?"

I faintly remember after I'd unhooked David how I was immediately brought down, and the moment the Trapper brought me to the hook how his leg became stuck in his own trap.  
I have to keep a laugh from bubbling in my throat.

"Yea, haha, that's kinda stupid...huh." My nerves are on fire with terror.

"I'm done with you." He stood. "Come along. I need to be rid of you before you're scrambling to the chopping block."

And he offered me a hand. I reluctantly grabbed on as he pulled me to my feet.

"You've been unfocused lately, you know." He hummed, leading me through the woods.

"....yea."

"Used to be, even a little bit, fun to watch you squirm. Are you aware of the dark circles that plague your eyes? You often look like the one who Freddy obsesses over. Quentin, 'er something like that."

"That's fucked." I blurted out, mostly desensitized already to the fact I was walking with a killer. I mean, no sense in being overly terrified, even if the dude was about twice my size. Hahah, classic sarcasm.

"Language."

"You get enjoyment out of murder." My face involuntarily scrunched up.

"I didn't used to. It's better you than me, anyways. Much slimmer, quieter. Easier to survive."

"Thank you?"

"You're very welcome."

We continued, past that gnarled old oak tree. We had to be getting somewhere.

"Almost there."

"That's a relief."

"To be frank with you, if I may," He awaited anything so I simply nodded before he spoke again. "You should start taking better care of yourself. Not just because it's easier to catch you."

"I'm fine." I shrugged, rolling my eyes and throwing my braids back over my shoulder.

"None of us are fine here- What- What's your name?"

"Tell me yours and I'll tell you mine."

"Evan MacMillan, now out with it."

"Meg Thomas."

"None of us are fine here, Meg."

"I mean, yea. We're all in this eternal purgatory with no idea of when or if we're ever going to escape, with daunting nightmares and fear of failure if we slip up in trials."

"..."

"Not to even mention the excruciating pain we have to endure daily anyways."

"You really should take care of yourself."

"I am-"

"Without working yourself to the bone."

We'd reached that supply warehouse, and he pointed off into the fog. 

"Well thanks, I guess."

"Stop messing up in trials, and you'll be more than welcome to come back and visit."

"Will do."

Will not do.

I walked back off into the fog unscathed, with many many more questions than I originated with.


	3. A Pint(Jake & Quentin)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little exploring leads to much more than intended.

In all my many, many presumed years around our campfire, there's always been certain "necessities" we've been denied by the Entity.

Like, for good example, alcohol.  
That's totally essential.  
At least according to David, Nea and Ace. 

After about five minutes, it had turned from a yearn to have liquor go down your throat into "hey let's talk about how we used to get black out drunk and beat up people".   
That was David, anyway.

There's minors here. It's only Feng, I think. But she's still a minor, and therefore needs to be protected at all costs.

What I  _wasn't_ expecting was for her to come clean about going out drinking with her gaming team, and how many bars they'd snuck her into when she was just seventeen or eighteen. How anyone could think this was okay, I'd never know. She didn't have much time left to explain before being whisked into a trial with Kate, Claudette and Adam. Not before they could put in their two cents, of course.  
Unsurprisingly, the only mature people about the matter were Laurie and Quentin. And Dwight, but none of us really expected him to be a huge party animal anyways. 

And then David started to go off again.

"Y'know back when I visited Ireland for a quick little pop in, they wouldn't even let me in the bar," He had that shit eating, 'yea you know I was being such a public nuisance that nobody could put up with me' face. 

"What, did you kill a bouncer?" Meg interjected while she took a seat. 

"Naw, naw, nothin' crazy. Bastards just wouldn't let me in for even a beer,"

"I've heard German bars are real nice. Drinking age is fifteen, but the stuff's so potent that nobody's stupid enough to drink it that young," Nea smirked as she crossed her arms from her campfire seat.

"When was the last time any of you had a decent bottle?" David stared out at everyone, semi-bored.

"Like, maybe a week or two before I ended up here?" Meg shrugged, always quick to the conversation. "Whole college track team went out for a celebratory dinner, everyone also decided that whiskey shots would be fun."

"Day I got here, I swear I had a bottle in my hand." Ace raised his eyebrows from behind his glasses and beamed.

"I didn't drink a whole lot, so I really can't say." Nea shrugged before turning to me. "The survivalist used to drink, didn't he?"

"Not often, no." I could feel density in the air after that. "I had a little liquor flask, but it wasn't like I'd chug it all day. It's expensive. Way too expensive to be drinking any time I wasn't ready to collapse."

"I've...never drank." Dwight mumbles.

Ace snickered, though clearly not in any sort of mean spirited way as he quickly gave him a pat to the back.

"Fair enough." Meg slumped over, resting her arms on her knees as she slouched down.

"It's weird to think you're all drinking like this, honestly." Oh yea. Laurie's still here.

"Alcohol's a big part of life." David put his hands together in quiet praise, whispering a soft amen.

"Alright," I muttered, getting up with a stretch. "I was just in a trial, so I don't think I'll be plucked out soon. I'm going into the fog, anyone wanna come with?"

"I'm up for it," Quentin raised his hand, which I grabbed to pull him to his feet.

He gave some flick of dismissal, and the two of us started to meander out of camp, and into the fog.

Cold, gripping. The slightest bit damp as we trudged in.  
It soon dissipated with a familiar smell of heated rust and grain, the muggy summer air starting to get under my skin. Quentin and I gave a hesitant glance to each other as the Thompson house came into view.

Quentin and I stuck close together, mostly because not a whole good majority of survivors ventured past here. Not without finding the Hillbilly completely tied up in "conversation" with another killer. Usually the Wraith, if not the Trapper. And on most occasions, both of them.  
It was easy pickings just to leave.

I began to walk on up to the house, Quentin right behind me. We never really got a good look at the place while we were in trials, anyhow.

Random boxes and crates strewn about, trash kicked up in some corners of the room with odd animal carcasses littering the rest of the floor. One of those crates, though, happened to be open. 

I stepped on over, mumbling a soft "give me a hand with this" before Quentin and I began to pull at the top of the crate, just enough to slide it over and see what was inside.

An entire crate, full of those polish pottery jugs. 

"Well isn't that fitting?" A smirk overtook Quentin's face as he stared down into the crate, fingers gingerly running across the bottles.

"What?"

" _Moonshine_ , Jake. An  _entire crate_ just absolutely full of  _moonshine_." 

"Well, we could be responsible adults."

"I'm eighteen."

"Still an adult."

"Yea, okay. But we could also take this back. I'm not saying we even need to drink any, it might make some sort of good offering."

"Damn. You're right." He chuckled at my sudden amusement. "Well, I don't think it'd be smart to take more than one."

Quentin shrugged, starting to pull a bottle out of the crate.

"Help me get it sealed up so we can leave."

I did just that.

After sealing the crate, I picked up the jug of moonshine. Quentin would be the eyes, enough to get us back into the fog.  
Until the roaring of a chainsaw began from the cornfields.

"Shit." Quentin whispered, his face going slightly pale.

The two of us crept to the stairs to the back exit, just as soon as the Hillbilly ran in, chainsaw going right into one of the unopened crates.   
He must have an ungodly amount of moonshine. Especially with how the Entity just loves to re-create endless amounts of food, flowers, clothes, the like.   
And on cue, he propped the broken crate's lid open, taking a bottle and sitting atop the crates.

Quentin and I couldn't do much but sit, and wait.

The Hillbilly unplugged the bottle with whatever excuse for fingernails he had, and just started chugging. Afterwards, he shook his head and let out a large huff, tossing the jug to the floor as it shattered with a loud crack.

And he was back on his chainsaw, revving and charging out the door and into the fog.

"Alcoholic." Quentin murmured. 

"No kidding."

We trudged back into the fog, and returned, a bottle of moonshine for all. 

Then we saw the real alcoholics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahaha lmao  
> it me   
> i literally wrote this all in little under an hour  
> i'm crazy unmotivated and am in DESPERATE NEED OF REQUESTS. i won't do smut, but relationships are mostly open as of now so  
> help


	5. We used to Dance, Okay?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bit more of a freeform deal
> 
> imagine whomever you'd like 
> 
> i'm just sick and need an out to  
> talk i guess

I remember when I first noticed, that you loved me back. 

I'd known you, perhaps a month or so. We got along well. Our passions melted in a fondue pot of absolute convergence, being able to work together near seamlessly in everything we did. Your hands on mine, guiding me. Or perhaps, the other way around. We were teachers and students to each other, strengths and weaknesses helping one another out effortlessly.

I was awkward. Dare I say, shy, to your subtle advances.

You were too, even though you were the one making them.

Little quips of pickup lines, just small things. Hell, even a shitty video reference.

"Hey baby, are you an angel, because I'm allergic to feathers."  
You'd said that to my face. And I laughed.

 

I had my suspicions when you begun to invite me to your home. Your sanctuary of rich legends.

To show me things I'd been enthused about, projects you were working on.

 

I begun asking others if they thought the same as me, that you had begun an inkling of some romance. 

I suppose I was hoping you were, and let myself fall for you as well.

And I asked you. And you said no, that I would be well aware if you were hitting on me.

I was, a bit, crushed. I felt sick. That I lied to myself. That I tied myself down in a sinking ship, before I knew of the damage.

 

It was when you'd come to see me, that you told me you truly did like me.

And that a difference between us set us apart.

I was a coward. I didn't admit it to your face, but I did admit that I enjoyed your company.

That difference stayed strong.  
Yet we got closer.  
And closer.  
Until your face was inches from mine.

And you respectively, did not kiss me. 

Though your hugs are a safe haven I cannot escape.  
With twitchy hands and unrested eyes, just a hug could calm me in an instant. Pull me into a security I've longed to have.

And though, truly, and honestly, I don't think you're all that physically attractive.

But I don't care.

I love you, for being what you are as a persona in some faded world. 

 

It's as if we're dating without a label. 

Hanging around each other as often as possible, sitting close. Though I always wish I was closer.

In your arms.

Swaying. 

A pathetic leaf in a full scale hurricane, dropping off the dancefloor.

Holding you, and you holding me. 

Just being around you. 

 

You're so wonderful, and interesting.

I doubt myself around you. I think you're so much better than I am.

And yet, we both are hopelessly attracted to one another. 

I just want to  _be_ with you. I could care less about anything else. 

 

I want to continue our little dance, center stage instead of awkwardly holding your hand in the corners of the room.

Oh, what fools we are. 

What fools we will continue to be.


End file.
